“The tree has fruit,”
Hands sticky,
Face smeared,
My stomach turning
“The fruit is rotten,”
Laughing, another in your hand
The first bite unearths no worm, no insect
Only the soft, wet peach-flesh
You’d expect from one of us.
“Isn’t it sour?
Isn’t it bitter?
Does the aftertaste not resemble
Pesticidal poison?”
Quiet now,
Only the sound of leaves shaking,
The pull of branch and the wobbly return,
The fruit’s fuzz against my fingers,
My lips.
I do not take a bite.

Maybe we can go on together with suspicious minds
But only because feigning trust is considered fine
So we say ok and tell each other to have fun
When we assume the worst and then say none
We boil up and grow apart
With each slightly resentful remark
My period pains make you say
I'm ******* around every other day
You don't talk to me anymore
So I assume your new friend is your *****
We change plans on hanging out together
Instead of rekindling this love we've shared forever
So as much as we think **** is going on behind
I know our accusations aren't necessary
We can't go on with suspicious minds.

This secret, best kept away
from prying hands that drop
eyes on eaves and awnings.

They stay within
the perimeter of spies and agents
doubling as bartender ears,

drink up and pour
the punch that hits you where
you bleed invisible. The spleen

lacerating split, a penetrating
ooze, cleaves back and forth with you.
Drain out and glaze over. Be very,

very still.

I have fallen to one knee
as I turn to see your shadow,
just in time to prepare for the second blow
in these final seconds before,
the state between death and the dying thought
one's life does play out
in a wave of weaving shadows
on a pillow of blinding white light
my last conscious thought
of your eyes,
the day you looked at me from across the room,
from across the universe
in death one can hear,
for you repeat as you look upon my bloodied body;
"cheater! cheater!"
I can only summize you refer to the lipstick on my collar
put there by your mother
who I happened upon at the grocery store
while picking up your favorite yogurt
you always were the jealous and suspicious one,
but I love you just the same

Prowling by. One paw, one paw–it hunts slowly.

The hands of movement,
by and by
break our fall,
they're indeed very sly.

A freedom of spirit,
Is slowly being crushed.
When one sees desperation,
dirt and dust.

A freedom is being taken,
to meet new lives,
Instead being given
...muffled cries.

A freedom is being snatched,
of happy joys.
Gender and doubt,
unlikely toys.

But trust was asked,
not very much,
A freedom was taken,
and life was such.

I'm having writers block
& it's all because of you
I'm having writers block,
the words are leaving me,
and so are you,
you're the ink going out of my pen,
used to drip so passionately,
It's now empty, once again,
While this writers block has twisted my mind & jumbled my soul,
So have you,
and my heart still yearns for writing,
but I can't think clear thoughts with my suspicions of you,
so, I'm slowly letting you go,
my heart is peaceful,
my words are true,
writers block doesn't have a hold on me,
and neither do you